


The Ice Cream Shop

by Diaph



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: BMX, BMX Clarke, Cute, Day At The Beach, F/F, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Geeky, Ice Cream Parlors, Meet-Cute, Nerd Lexa, Surfer Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 16:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16726731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaph/pseuds/Diaph
Summary: Prompt Fill: Ice cream shop, BMX wannabe, badass who is a total geek, Clexa fluffAKA:Clarke rides down to the beach and sees the girl she's going to no doubt spend the rest of her life chasing





	The Ice Cream Shop

The day was glorious, was cool, was clear and quiet and perfect for an early ride. Clarke fastened her helmet and skipped out of the door, her phone safely switched off and unable to provide distractions. If it wasn’t the tour promoters disturbing her rare quiet Saturday mornings, then it was Anya, and if it wasn’t Anya, it was Octavia begging for her to finally come and visit the shop now they had the new location up and running. Clarke took off into the guts of the suburbs with nowhere in particular she wanted to go, just simply the idea that wherever she did end up she most certainly didn’t want to be found.

The wind rushed past her cheeks, her thighs ached, her core muscles had grown sore, and that was how she kept track of the time. The old fashioned way. It had become different since the contracts had been signed and she became a bonafide pro, whatever that meant. Now, time was measured in concepts such as signings and interviews and expo shows all stacked on top of each other during the day. It was disappointing how… disappointing it all turned out to be. She had fantasised it would be sunkissed girls in high cut shorts and Redbull record attempts all day everyday. The unfortunate truth was that the girls had no grit and the Redbull deals were reserved for the best of the best of the best, and the scene as a whole was dominated by guys who cared more about trying to get her in bed than trying to get her on the pipe. She was good, eleventh in the world apparently, but the whole thing was exhausting and she wasn’t sure anymore if she even wanted to be number one anymore. She tried not to think about it too much. Instead she peddled fiercer.

The coffee was cold brew and alright enough, she supposed. Her bike was laid down to rest on the footpath. Clarke put herself down beside it and took her shoes off and rolled up her jeans, digging her blistered feet into the warm sand. She took sips of her overpriced cold brew while the wind whipped her hair into an untameable state. The midday sun sat proud in the sky and she had to squint to see the surfers skimming across the waves. Perhaps she chose the wrong sport, she wondered, then immediately tried not to wonder too much. Saturdays should be about watching pretty girls and ripped golden-coloured guys on the beach during the high surf and hopelessly hoping that they’re watching right back. She glugged another sip and pulled a horrified wince as one girl in the distance came hurtling off her board from a twenty metre wave and smashed right into the froth. Clarke decided there and then that even if she did choose the wrong sport, at least it wasn’t that. The girl resurfaced after a minute or so. Clarke realised she had been holding her breath.

Clarke watched the girl get towed back to the shore. She was fuming from the ears, already arguing with the lifeguards who went out to bring her back in. Clarke finished the last of her coffee and watched the drama unfold. The girl was all gnashing teeth and flexing jaw muscles and emphatic hand gestures towards the surf. The men who stood in front of her remained unmoved by the display, shaking their heads and gesturing with their hands for her to calm down. Clarke hoped in the back of her mind that the girl would stay angry. ‘You tell them fuckers,’ she nibbled to herself under the breath, uncertain of what the argument was even about.

The girl took defeat and came barrelling up the beach with her board tucked under her arm and a leather jacket tossed over her shoulders. Clarke couldn’t help but roll her eyes. It was eighty-two out and this girl was wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket over her black bikini like a Charlie’s Angels wannabe. She hated how sexy it was. The girl was ripped and golden, her waist tapered and muscular, her thighs solid and tight, her wet hair tossed up in a lazy bun. Clarke had seen her from somewhere before but couldn’t place it, not yet at least.

“I saw you come down,” Clarke said as the girl nearly walked right over her. It caught her attention, she peered back over her shoulder with a funny look. “I mean you ate shit but I’ll give you a 5.3 for the landing.” Clarke smirked.

The girl cracked a tight smirk and glanced down at her bike. “You get much height on that thing?” She raised a brow.

“Depends on the pipe, sometimes, for sure. I actually prefer longboarding but apparently I’m a better BMX rider, go figure.” Clarke shrugged.

“Longboarding is for people too scared to surf,” she laughed aloud.

Clarke didn’t miss a beat and raised the back of her forearm where the 15cm scar was still pink and fresh from the surgery last year. “Tell that to my radius and ulna. I crashed on a road barrier coming down a mountain in Sierra and unfortunately there wasn’t any water to break my fall,” she teased right back.

“Wow, guess you must be better at BMX.” The girl whistled, impressed. “You know I’m kinda jealous? I wish I could stick a basket and some tassels on the front of my board for competitions but unfortunately we don’t have anything to hold onto when we’re riding up there.”

“I can think of a place you can stick some tassels but I don’t think the judges would be impressed. In fact, speaking of which, those official looking guys didn’t seem impressed when you came back in?”

“Oh, them?” She peered at the lifeguards and rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started. If I was a guy they never would have made me come back in, it’s total bullshit.”

“I get that, really I do.” Clarke gave a slight empathetic nod.

“Well you know what they say, women are from Venus and men are from Mars.” The girl smiled, pleased and satisfied with the statement.

Clarke quirked her eyebrows and looked the girl up and down. The words got under her skin. The popular sentiment—that women were feminine goddesses and men were rugged hunter gatherers, and those two things often clashed in the real world because of romanticised bullshit gender ideals—irritated Clarke beyond the point of a polite concessionary laugh.

“That’s not true at all, women are from Earth and men are from Earth and girls can fall down and get back up and boys can learn to stand back and let us get on with it.”

“Oh no, you got me all wrong.” The girl laughed and ran a hand over her wet hair. “When people say, ‘Oh, women are from Venus...’ I always laugh and agree because I think it's a compliment because Venus is the deadliest of the planets. It has a sky of vapourised acid created by the violently active volcanoes on its surface and it’s also the second planet from the sun which makes it so impossibly bright and hot that nothing could ever survive even if the sky _wasn’t_ made of sulphuric acid, and if that wasn’t enough? The pressure on Venus is ninety-one times what it is on Earth. Men would be crushed to death instantly. But not women, because apparently that’s where we come from. Mars on the other hand is just an overhyped vacuous dust bowl. I’d rather be from Venus.”

Clarke blinked and didn’t know what to say. The girl had become infinitely hotter. She pondered it for a moment and nodded, then pondered and nodded again, trying to think of something to say that was equally as impressive.

“Sorry if I just nerded out on you,” she huffed and scratched her head.

“No, no, god no, please by all means, nerd all over me.” Clarke laughed. She realised what she said too late and burned bright red.

“What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t.”

“Okay. Well, have a nice day.” She smiled and walked off.

Clarke sat there and felt her lungs nearly drop into her stomach. She blinked, the urge to get up and chase after her came next. Stupid, stupid, stupid idea, she chastised herself. She should have just told her what her name was, she should have just invited her for coffee and not tried so hard. The girl stuck her board in the back of her truck and then climbed in the front seat and Clarke realised all too late that time was running out.

Screw it, Clarke thought to herself.

She jumped up and shouted over, but the engine had already started and no doubt drowned out her sound. The truck backed out. Clarke bristled under her breath and grabbed her bike, she would chase this girl down and get her number if it damn well nearly killed her.

She stuck her foot on the pedal and realised immediately that she wouldn’t be going anywhere any time fast. She looked down and saw that the chain had broke.

“God fucking damn it.” She cradled her headache as the truck pulled out on the street and cruised off into the distance. “The ice cream shop it is then,” she muttered under her breath.

Clarke walked two miles along the boardwalk, pushing her bike the entire way. She had now found an utterly worse way to pass the time than signings and interviews, between the beach and Octavia’s spot she measured the passage of time with flashbacks to precise moments in the conversation by the sidewalk that she would re-do if she could. Instead of being such a snark, she would have just been straight up and honest. It probably wouldn’t have worked. It rarely does work. But at least she wouldn’t be stuck with the _what if._

She finally caught sight of the shop and breathed a sigh of relief. Octavia was right, the spot did look amazing. The store was made to look like an old fashioned ice cream parlour with colourful canopies on the windows and neon signs in the front. There was a sandwich board outside and a bunch of girls sat on the steps fastening their roller skates. The Ice Cream Shop wasn’t a food spot, instead it was a skate and BMX store. The first brand that sponsored her, in fact. Clarke felt a swell of calmness as she lead the bike up to the door. It felt like she was finally coming home.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Octavia leaned over the stainless steel counter with a smile as Clarke navigated herself and the bike through the door.

“Sorry O,” Clarke apologised and looked around, smiling. “You were right. This place is insane. I should have came by sooner but…”

“Life got in the way. It’s fine, no biggie.”

“I’ve missed you. This place really is amazing, Octavia.”

“Right? Finally got that spot on the beach just like I always wanted,” she said proudly, before looking down at the bike at Clarke’s hip. “Looks like you need a new chain…”

“Yeah, and a new pick up line if you have one.” Clarke scratched her head. “There was this babe at the beach today, she came hurtling off a wave and I fell in love and long story short it ended before it even started. I was too cocky.”

“You fell in love, huh?” A familiar voice asked over her shoulder.

Clarke turned around and there she was. Her hair was still damp and tossed up, but this time she was just about dressed with washed out jeans and a branded t-shirt and somehow all the more beautiful.

Octavia stirred Clarke’s attention. “This is Lexa, she’s a local surfer we have a sponsoring deal with. Now we’ve got the beach location it makes sense to branch out into surfboarding too and with the way she’s been riding in competition this season new business has been coming through the door like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I can believe it,” Clarke whispered and didn’t take her eyes off of the girl. “Hi, my name is Clarke. Can we pretend you didn’t just hear all of that?”

The girl took her hand with a soft shake. “Lexa. And no, we can’t.” She smirked and looked over Clarke’s shoulder at Octavia. “So this is your best friend that you’ve told me all about?”

“The one and only, Clarke Griffin.” She heard Octavia agree and open drawers looking for a chain. “Clarke, why don’t you leave the bike with me and go get coffee with Lexa. I’ll have it fixed up for when you come back… feel free to take your time,” she teased.

Lexa peered at her with sea green eyes and a bite of her lip. “You want to go and get coffee with me, cocky girl?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

 

[You can find more stories like this right HERE!](http://diaphdiaph.tumblr.com)


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